The Station

grasp the new sky, pull in some hope
declare peace and pour some tea
in steaming mugs

Pull the blue sky over the morning
like a roman blind, like paint
on a roller, take your brush
and fill in the white sun waiting for winter.

Watch the last leaves
reach like children’s fingers
grasp the new sky, pull in some hope
declare peace and pour some tea
in steaming mugs
for the new day smells fresh
as the grasses that quiver in the cool breeze.

The last apple on the tree sings of summer,
lost lament for times past
laced with a promise to return so
open your eyes and let this light flood in,
let it fall in streaks like tears of joy
across your autumn cheeks,
red and ripe and ready to kiss
like berries newly bursting in the wild.

About the Author

Brighton_typewriter_poet

Brighton_typewriter_poet (real name Howard Young) lives in Brighton, East Sussex with his wife and family. He uses the typewriter as a way of escaping the distractions of the digital age, often writing outside where possible. He often writes poems about the nature and history of the South Downs and other places too. He writes in free verse often leaving in mistakes as he types to show the spontaneity and honesty of the work. He also makes sculpture in stone and wall art using found objects.

See author's posts